


tear out my tongue (cause i've been redeemed)

by brightlyburning



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Menstruation, Menstruation Kink, Oral Sex, Period Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29347467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlyburning/pseuds/brightlyburning
Summary: Kisses, slow, careful, suckling flushed dark marks on the pale expanse of her thighs. Testing his teeth until she bows up into the bite, her muscles trembling on his shoulders, against his neck, and huffs out a laugh, and then a moan. A stifled squeak escapes her as he pushes his hands, slow, working out the tension, up the outsides of her thighs, then hooks his fingertips in the waistband of her shorts.Byleth's hips lift in silent demand, and it's the work of a few teasing minutes to peel the shorts away from her skin, toss them aside for the launderers later. Then, at last, Byleth lets Dimitri press her thighs apart with his hands, his shoulders, and look upon her.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 6
Kudos: 83
Collections: Dimileth Hot Flash





	tear out my tongue (cause i've been redeemed)

"Byleth?" Dimitri rests a hand on her foot where it peeks from the sheets, thumb moving idly over her calluses and old scars, dirt worn into her skin from a lifetime of marching. "I brought you tea."

The lump curled up beneath the covers grunts and twists, sheets pulling tight over her frame and foot shooting out of his grip. More shuffling and sounds, a muffled curse Dimitri's face heats at, before at last her disheveled head emerges. Her gaze is baleful and sleepy, her face creased with pink and white lines from her pillow, her hair a cloud of tangled pale green, and Dimitri-

Dimitri has never loved her more. The tension in his shoulders eases at her mere presence, even as she shoves herself upright, sheets falling away to show her muscular frame, her only concessions to modesty a breastband and a worn pair of shorts. 

"Thank you," she says, voice hoarse with disuse, when he carefully slides the mug into her cupped hands. The first sip enlivens her, flushes her pale cheeks with color, and while she sips she kicks her way out of the covers to drape her legs across his thighs. A reassuring weight, her presence a pole star.

"I wish I could aid you further." It's painful to watch her suffer every month, and more so to know how furious it makes her to be so beholden to her body and its pain. She's spent her life on campaign, marching and moving, and to be felled by herself seems twice terrible. "Do you need anything else?"

She rarely asks for anything other than tea and numbing salves on the worst days, so there's no surprise when she shakes her head. A bit of uselessness, of wayward energy trying to find some way to help, but not surprise.

Byleth sets the mug aside, hissing at the stretch, then pushes the dingy sock she's filled with something fragrant off of where it rests on her stomach. One of her feet tap on the outside of Dimitri's thigh: some old marching cadence, no doubt. "Are you waited for?"

"No. The privy council is done meeting for the day, and I'm not expected anywhere before supper." He should really thank his secretary. Leon always manages to clear out several good bits of time on Byleth's most painful days. "What might you need?" A sudden thought, a pulse of arousal making his breath hitch, before he adds, "May I please you?"

She makes a considering sound, her gaze sharpening, and her body sways toward him. "If you'd like," she says, as if he would ever not want to please her, to impress his adoration into her skin with tongue and teeth and fingers. "Your cock would be too much, but your mouth would be pleasant," she says, and the easy way she can say something so crude still thrills him, years on. "Or your fingers, if you prefer."

A way to serve her, something he can do to ease the ache - the knowledge burns through his body. He slides off the bed in answer, knees settling onto the plush carpet, and lets his hands settle onto her knees to await her direction. 

"Every time you kneel for me," she starts, and then says nothing more, her mouth tipping into a smile. Her expression, when she gazes at him, shines with open affection, and her hands - work-worn, scarred, still so warm - slide into his hair, scratch at his scalp until he shivers with the pleasure of her regard. He shivers as well with anticipation, the memory of her skin beneath his mouth, the unstinting trust she gives in wanting him so near.

Dimitri skims his hands down her legs - her thighs, softer now with peace, and the corded strength of her calves - over the delicate arches of her feet, the calluses atop her toes she's never cared enough to buff off, and lays a kiss on one of her knees before scooping her legs up over his shoulders.

Her ankles immediately lock together on his back, promising safety, a place where he will never be allowed to step wrongly. Her fingers tighten in his hair, a warm delicious pulse that flows down his spine, joins the slow-glowing embers persuading his cock to rise. 

More kisses, slow, careful, suckling flushed dark marks on the pale expanse of her thighs. Testing his teeth until she bows up into the bite, her muscles trembling on his shoulders, against his neck, and huffs out a laugh, and then a moan. A stifled squeak escapes her as he pushes his hands, slow, working out the tension, up the outsides of her thighs, then hooks his fingertips in the waistband of her shorts.

Byleth's hips lift in silent demand, and it's the work of a few teasing minutes to peel the shorts away from her skin, toss them aside for the launderers later. Then, at last, Byleth lets Dimitri press her thighs apart with his hands, his shoulders, and look upon her.

Her folds shine in the low light, wet with her own fluid, with the red smears of her blood, her curls and the pale expanse of her thighs dark with dots and lines and swaths, bright red fading to dulled brown, to flakes, and Dimitri swallows down the surge of saliva at the sight, the smell. The smell, Goddess - rich, iron-tang, sea and raw wildness, the scent of conquest and battles hard-fought.

Byleth - unashamed, utterly comfortable in her own skin in a way he has never been - waits, lets him look his fill, nuzzle at her belly and breathe in the blood-hot scent like the beast he can be. She sighs, hips lifting into his touch, murmurs his name as he sucks the first taste of blood from her skin. A taste he will never know, but that she lets him - wants him to take even this part of her, has him moaning, hips bucking into the air.

Gently, he presses his trembling hand to her, spreads her wide with his fingertips: pink, wet, so delicate beneath his callused fingers he fears to touch, to hurt her here. More blood wells from her hole, hot, slick, a bright red that burns to look upon. Her body opens and yields to him, plush and hot and silken, when he presses a finger within. Such strength in so small a form, and she ripples about his fingers when he slips a second one in, lowers his mouth to lap up the blood welling in the space between.

"Ah, Dimitri," Byleth says, and the surprised pleasure in her voice, in the tightness of her thighs where they tremble against his neck, scorches. 

Yes, there- 

He fits his mouth over her, pushes his tongue forward, in, chasing the scent of her blood, wild at the sudden tear of her fingers against his skin, the breaking of her voice as she arches up, into him, her clit grinding against his nose, harder, harder-

He closes his eye, lets the growl threatening to consume him shake through his bones and into her, savors her cry, the heedless shudder of her body as she slams into climax. Her blood, her scent, all of her, scalding, overwhelming - she surrounds him, plunders his senses, and at last she falls back to the bed, her thighs loosening about his neck. The mattress creaks beneath her weight.

He gentles the furious pace of his tongue, softens his lips, until he simply rests, his open mouth and its warmth there for her. His jaw aches, his throat strange. Blood coats his skin, threatens to dry tacky, and the last trembles of her climax ease against his lips.

The exhaustion of the day, of ruling, of knowing she was in pain and feeling helpless to do anything about it, loosens its grip on him. His shoulders drop for what feels like the first time in ages. Peace settles heavy and warming about him, the knowledge that he's done well a balm to any tension.

Byleth's fingers stroke aimlessly through his hair, thumb at a few strands that escaped his queue. Above him, on the bed, her breathing gentles into even rhythm, and her pulse against his skin slows as well. 

"Better?" he says at last, the word feeling strange to his tingling lips. He eases his eye open to find her gazing down at him, flushed down to her breastband, and a certain smugness rolls within him at knowing her well-pleased. He dips one shoulder, than the other, easing her legs off him and onto the floor, then creaks back on his haunches. Her fingers slide limply from his hair.

She rolls her eyes at him, and he can't stop himself from smiling. "What have I said about foolish questions?" she says, but the tired grin tugging at her mouth belies the sting. "Up here, please. An embrace would do me well."

Another easy request to fulfill.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Florence + the Machine. Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and criticism are adored. I reply to all comments, though it may take me a bit. Check out my social media info at brightlyburning.carrd.co if you'd like, or talk to me on Twitter at @carthageburning!


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